


Summer Swims and Strings

by jamgrl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Crowley POV, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Love Letters, Summer Romance, lakehouse, reconnected lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: Crowley needed to escape. The lakehouse was easy. That was all. She wasn't going there for Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Summer Swims and Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suvroc (cuteandillusion)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandillusion/gifts).



> This is a gift for Suvroc for the prompts "high school sweethearts who reconnect" and "love letters". 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [madeofmydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmydreams).
> 
> Rated mature for implied sexual content.

Crowley pulled up gently to the old lakehouse. The gravel drive was slick with mud and rocks, the house loomed darkly in the thick fog. She stepped out of the car and stretched. She had been driving all day. Her nose filled with the odor of algae and lake water. It had been ages since she’d been here.

The lakehouse had been owned by her late Aunt Agnes. Crowley used to spend the summers with her growing up, and those had been the best summers, full of late night swims and poker. Visits to the local pie shop and that witchy souvenir shop. None of the rules or rigid structure of home. Now the place just felt gloomy. But Crowley needed to get out of the city, needed to clear her head, and this house was hers now.

Crowley finagled the door of the wooden cabin like house and stepped into the dark cool space, thick with a moldy dampness. She remembered how mushrooms used to grow in the shower, how the cabin was almost part of the woods. She remembered the golden fire in the fireplace, the twilight talks with Agnes. This was perfect. 

There would still be a few hours of light, and she needed fresh air, so she thought it wouldn’t hurt to get out on the water, enjoy the scenery. After dumping her suitcases in her old bedroom and leaving the couple of paper bags of groceries she’d picked up on the way on the kitchen counter, she headed out back. There was a dilapidated dock, with missing planks of wood and the occasional protruding nail. She used to do cannon balls off that dock. It had not been well taken care of even then.

She wandered onto the somewhat unstable platform and found the tiny old motor boat, tied to a dock post, a thick layer of green slime covering the sides. She stepped into it, feeling it wobble beneath her dangerously. She wasn’t sure if it would still work. The motor was probably shot, or it needed gas. She messed around with it for an hour before giving up. 

Maybe there was an old kayak in the shed. The shed was full of dirt and cobwebs, and the once orange life jackets were black with mold. Crowley found a kayak, though, and a paddle. She dragged it out, scraping it through the dirt, shoving it into the shallow lake shore. She stepped into the water. Her feet squished into the mud of the lake bottom, the water licked at her ankles. She didn’t mind. Unsuctioning her shoes from the muck, she climbed into the boat.

She wasn’t sure where she was going. Maybe just being on the lake would be what she needed to clear her mind and put her cares fully and totally behind her. 

She was sick of the corporate world, of her parents’ expectations. That’s what she was escaping from, why she was here. Why’d her parents have to be such greedy corporate drones? Why’d they have to want Crowley to work for them? Why couldn’t they have been like old Agnes? Whimsical, mischievous, fun. 

Crowley was done with it. Done with it all. She just didn’t know what came next. Maybe that’s why she came to the lakehouse, instead of finding somewhere else to vacation with her new freedom afforded by unemployment. She wanted to remember what she was like before spending 10 years at the mercy of the biggest and most successful advertising agency in the country. 

The lake was peaceful. Hardly a soul on it. Crowley passed a small skimmer boat or two, a father and son fishing, a family in swimsuits in their pontoon boat eating sandwiches. But otherwise it was her, and the gray sky, and the mostly clear water.

There were other houses along the lake. One that Crowley remembered clearly. The only other house she’d spent long summer hours in. The one with the screen porch where she’d sat drinking tea and talking about her dreams, the one with the bedroom with peeling yellow wallpaper covered in tiny flowers. The one with the giggling, and the secret kissing and the broken hearts. The one with Aziraphale.

Crowley wondered if it looked the same. She found herself paddling there, as if on autopilot. It had been nearly fifteen years, there was probably a new family there now. Aziraphale probably had her own place in the city. 

When Crowley glided close to that old dock, it looked just the same. Not dilapidated like Aunt Agnes’s. It was well taken care of and clean, a shiny speed boat tied to it. The dock was attached to the back porch of the house, where a swing and pristine outdoor furniture perched. The lights were on in the house and Crowley wondered if Aziraphale’s parents still owned the place, if they were there.

It wasn’t until a toddler burst through the screen porch and out onto the main porch that Crowley realized she had been stationarily floating, staring openly at the house. She panicked and started paddling backwards frantically, trying to put as much space as possible between her and the dock without tearing her eyes off of the house. What if Aziraphale _was_ there? Crowley didn’t want her to think she was still hung up on her, all these years later. She didn’t want to be caught creepily watching her house.

An adult came running out after the toddler. A voluptuous woman with blonde curls escaping her messy bun. She was even more beautiful now. She picked up the toddler, in a rush, easily placing him on her hip. She probably heard Crowley’s rapid splashing of her paddle. She looked out at the lake. Their eyes met for three long seconds. Aziraphale looked shocked. Crowley turned her kayak around and boogied right out of there, zipping around a cove and speeding to her place at the other corner of the lake.

When she made it, heart beating fast, face and armpits drenched in sweat, she stumbled out of the kayak, pulling it into the dirt and leaving it, not bothering to return it to the shed. She re-entered the cabin. Maybe no more ventures for a while.

She calmed down in the shower. She braided her wet hair and got into some sweats. She pulled out a packet of instant ramen from one of the paper grocery bags in the kitchen. She rifled through the old videos underneath the tv, looking for something to pop into the ancient VCR, while the ramen cooked in the microwave. She popped in an old _Golden Girls_ tape. There wasn’t any cable or internet in this place, and anyways, the old show was nostalgic.

Settling into a comfortable lounge on the couch, as comfortable it could be while her shoulders remained tense from stress, she wondered if speeding away had made it worse. Aziraphale had seen her, there was no denying that. Maybe if she’d played it cool, it would have seemed a lot less like Crowley had spent nights awake going over the “what-ifs”. What if Crowley had told her how she felt back then, how she’d wanted what they had to be more than a summer fling? More than late night experimentation in Aziraphale’s bedroom when her parents thought they were just watching movies? That she’d wanted to stay in touch, how she’d thought maybe she loved her. 

It was silly, probably. What did an eighteen year old know about love?

What had she been thinking, coming here? She should have kept to herself. There were plenty of places to go to clear her mind. Had she been secretly hoping to see Aziraphale again? Hoping to relive those days, regain that high of young love? Aziraphale had obviously moved on. She had a child, for Christ’s sake! What sane person in their thirties still daydreamed about their not even actually a girlfriend from their teen years?

She was halfway through her second _Golden Girl’s_ tape and about a quarter through her bottle of Pinot Noir when the knock came. Crowley nearly jumped out of her skin. She quickly tried to hide the evidence of her sloppy night, sweeping up her dirty dishes and hiding the wine away in the kitchen. 

There was only one person who would be knocking on the door unannounced at 11pm. Her parent’s didn’t know where she was going. Nobody did. She’d made sure of that. 

Crowley swept the chip crumbs off of herself and smoothed out her shirt, collecting herself before opening the door, putting on her best impression of nonchalance for the woman on her doorstep. No toddler, this time.

Aziraphale’s face lit up when she saw Crowley. “Antonia!” she exclaimed, smile so dazzling it could power a city. 

“Hey, uh- Aziraphale,” Crowley said awkwardly. 

“I thought that was you this morning! Though I couldn’t be sure, because you paddled away so fast! Wow. It's been ages, hasn’t it! It’s so lovely to see you. And you looking so well! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you in this old town again!

“Yeah, well.” Crowley wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t expected to ever be back in this town, either.

The glow on Aziraphale face seemed to fade. “Well. If you’re terribly busy… it is late, isn’t it? So sorry to intrude like this…”

“Come in?” Crowley asked, before she’d even thought it through. Aziraphale’s glow brightened again. 

Crowley stepped aside as Aziraphale entered and politely surveyed the cabin.

“Just the same as ever, isn’t it!” she exclaimed. “I used to bike by here, you know. Checking it was still here, I suppose. Wondering if it would be occupied by new owners. It never was. I suppose I always was relieved. I always hoped you’d come back one day.” Her face flushed scarlet at that last sentence. She turned to face Crowley, looking embarrassed. “I’m running my mouth, so sorry. I haven’t even asked how you are! How are you, Antonia?” 

The way she said her first name was like a prayer, and Crowley was undone. But it was probably best to let her know sooner rather than later. “I go by Crowley, now, actually.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Oh,” she said simply. “It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Her smile was weak. 

“Wine?” Crowley asked. 

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale replied, looking relieved.

Crowley left Aziraphale standing in the living room as she escaped to the small kitchen, liberating the hidden Pinot Noir and surreptitiously glancing out the little kitchen overhang to study Aziraphale. She was wearing a dress. A floral one, summery, tee-length. It hadn’t been what she’d been wearing before, on the dock. This was light blue, with fluttery sleeves. Delicate and floaty. Angelic.

Crowley returned to the woman she hardly knew, who unclasped her hands to accept the offered wine glass. Crowley took a sip from her own, watching her. She seemed just as nervous as Crowley. 

“So,” Aziraphale offered, in a valiant attempt to break the awkward silence. “What is it that brings you here?”

Crowley chewed on her cheek, considering how honest to be. Considering how much to share. She settled on, “Had to get away.”

Aziraphale nodded, as if that wasn’t the most cryptic answer possible.

“You?” Crowley asked. It was a feeble thing, her question. She took another sip of wine.

“Oh, you know. Family visit. I’d rather like to get away from _here,_ actually.” Aziraphale laughed softly at her own comment, and then she flushed. “Not that, I mean- I’m excited to see _you!_ So I suppose it’s lucky I am here, just, well, it can be challenging to spend too much time with one’s parents.” Aziraphale looked deep into her wine glass and cleared her throat, apparently giving up on speaking.

“Nice to have the help, I’m sure,” Crowley replied. She wondered if Aziraphale was unhappy with her partner. Or, better yet, if she was single. Crowley wouldn’t mind dating a single mum. She liked kids well enough. She could help with the kid, and Aziraphale could ditch the parents, like her, be happier, be freer.

Aziraphale looked at her quizzically, her soft eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, with the kid,” Crowley explained.

“Ah! Yes. Gabriel and his wife appreciate it, I think.”

“Not yours?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “How about you? Is it a kid or two you are getting away from?”

Crowley tried to suppress her smile. The idea that she could have possibly had time to even think about having a kid with her 70 to 80 hour work weeks at that godforsaken advertising firm was laughable. “No.”

Crowley realized they were both still standing in the middle of the room awkwardly. She gestured to the couch. “Sit?”

Aziraphale nodded and circled to the front of the couch, settling on the edge of it primly. She seemed so proper, so put together. And here was Crowley, a mess in sweatpants, probably a dried ramen noodle stuck to her somewhere. She joined Aziraphale on the couch. 

“So. No kids of your own, then?” Crowley asked, just to make sure she was understanding correctly. No kids could mean single. Maybe. 

She was getting ahead of herself. She hardly knew this woman. The girl, yes. But the woman was something else entirely.

“No.”

“Parents are pains in the arse?”

Aziraphale chuckled, a light and airy thing. “You could say that.”

“Sounds about right. Parents’ job, that is. To annoy the living hell out of their grown children.”

“I take it your relationship with your parents is a bit,” Aziraphale paused, as if looking for a word. “Fraught?” she finished.

Crowley looked into her nearly empty wine glass. She was starting to feel a bit off kilter. Probably the alcohol. “You could say that,” she said.

“That’s what- or rather who- you are getting away from?”

Crowley downed the last few dregs of wine and set the glass on the coffee table. Stared at it rather than answer. 

“Terribly sorry,” Aziraphale offered softly. “That was very forward of me. I shouldn’t have asked…” she trailed off, uncertain.

Crowley didn’t reply.

“Perhaps I should be going.”

“No!” The urgency in Crowley’s voice startled even herself. “I mean,” she tried to recover, wide eyes locked on Aziraphale, who had already stood up to leave. “It’s nice to see you. After all these years. No reason to leave so soon.”

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. “If you’re sure,” she said timidly.

“Course I am.”

“Well. Alright,” Aziraphale determined, returning to her perch on the couch.

There was a bout of tense silence. Crowley broke it by saying, “You’re right.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up from her wine curiously. She was drinking it slow, like she wanted to savour every drop. It was cheap supermarket wine.

“My parents are who I am getting away from.”

Crowley shifted, pulling one leg up to fold under herself on the couch, turning to face Aziraphale. 

“The thing is. I, um. Well. It's a little harder to get along with your parents when you are working for them, too.”

Aziraphale made a face Crowley couldn’t quite read. Disappointment? Or pity?

“So you are working for that firm of theirs? Something to do with commercials, was it?”

“Advertising. Yeah. Or, well. Not anymore, as of yesterday. Sort of quit. Dramatically. Stormed out and everything.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. It only made her face lovelier. “Oh my!”

“Didn’t quite know what I was doing. Relieved now, though.” Crowley leaned against the couch cushion. She wasn’t sure why she was sharing so much. But she felt comfortable with Aziraphale, somehow. She wasn’t _really_ a stranger.

“Oh, that’s good.” She smiled exactly the way she did back when they were eighteen. 

“S’pose.” Crowley fiddled with her still damp braid. “It was Hell, yeah. But. I have a good bit of money tucked away. Can’t really complain.”

Aziraphale pulled her own legs up onto the couch, sitting up on her knees and facing Crowley squarely. “You have every right to complain! You should be doing what you love! I never thought of you as a suit. You always said you would never work for them in that firm.”

“Funny how life plays little jokes on you, eh?”

“Not at all!” Aziraphale chastised. “How could you say such a thing? But I’m excited for you. Really! You have a chance to turn over a new leaf, start anew! Do you think you’ll do art now? Like you always said you would when we were young?”

“We’re still young.”

“Yes, well. Younger.”

“Dunno. Haven’t thought about it much beyond leaving. And coming here. Not sure it’s the most practical. But quitting my job wasn’t all that practical either.”

“Oh, who cares about practicality!”

“Most people.”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale tilted her head thoughtfully. “Any particular reason you chose to come here?” she asked gently.

“Well, having the house is convenient.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked down. “Ah, of course. Silly of me to ask, really.”

“Nah. I also came because,” Crowley tapped a finger against the back of the couch. “I wanted to reconnect with myself.” Crowley’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed when she realized how that sounded. “I mean, not! What I mean is, just, you know, remembering who I used to be, before becoming a cog. Nothing, you know-” She waved her hand helplessly, before giving up and looking at her lap. 

Aziraphale laughed. “You know. It would be okay if you were looking to reconnect with yourself _that way.”_

“I’m fine on that front, thank you,” Crowley said shortly, looking determinedly at the couch cushion next to her.

“Mmm. That’s good to hear.” Was she teasing her? Bit of a bastard in her age, huh?

“I presume you are doing fine?” Crowley offered.

“Oh yes. I reconnect with myself _regularly.”_ She had a glint in her eye. Crowley’s face was hot, and she wasn’t sure if it was in annoyance or arousal. Maybe it was both.

“I mean, in _general_ ,” Crowley plowed on, some frustration evident in her voice. “In your life. Did you ever get around to culinary school?”

“I suppose we both of us had rather impractical dreams, didn’t we?”

“That’s a no, then?”

“I teach preschool.”

“Oh. How, uh. How do you like it?”

“Oh, the children are lovely! Very tiring, of course. And rather sad sometimes.”

“In what way?”

“Not sure. Something about it. Being with all those children, seeing them dropped off and picked up by parents and family members. Reminds me of what I don’t have. I suppose that’s why _I’m_ here. Of course, I had conveniently forgotten why I had moved away from here in the first place.”

“Yeah? And why was that?”

“They’re very,” she considered. “Overbearing.”

“Will they be worried that you’re here?”

“Oh, no! Everyone is asleep, the lot of them. Won’t even notice I’ve gone.”

“No rush to get going, then?”

Aziraphale shook her head innocently. There was nothing innocent about her. Not from what Crowley remembered. She’d always been the one trying to push boundaries further. Right. 

Crowley took a chance. She removed the wine glass from Aziraphale’s hand and set it on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. She scooted a little closer to her. Aziraphale was already leaning forward, eyes lidded. Then they were kissing, and Crowley was eighteen again. 

It happened quickly- Crowley falling back on the couch, pulling Aziraphale with her. Aziraphale hovering over her, looking like a deity, meeting her lips again, kissing her deeply. Crowley letting her hands wander over Aziraphale’s back, Aziraphale slipping the top of her dress down to reveal a _very_ sexy lacy bra, which indicated this event was definitely premeditated. Crowley felt overwhelmed and raw. Had Aziraphale been mulling over the what-ifs, too? She didn’t let herself think too hard about it. _Let it be what it will be_. 

She suppressed her embarrassment over her comfy but stained and holey undergarments. Aziraphale didn’t seem to care even a little bit. She was too full of hunger, a hunger Crowley matched in waves.

When it was over, Crowley was giggling. When had she last giggled?

“You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” Crowley teased, too high from her recent orgasm to feel ashamed of her teenage sex life. Eighteen year old Crowley would have been blown away with how much better sex could feel.

Aziraphale’s cheeks were brushed with pink, like a sunset, as she wrapped her still naked body in a throw blanket. “No more than anyone else, I think,” she said a tad defensively.

Crowley’s high crashed down. “I didn’t mean-”

“Do you mind if I light a fire?” Aziraphale asked, before Crowley could finish explaining herself.

“Go ‘head,” Crowey resigned. She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, exposed skin pleasantly warm, too lazy to get dressed. She watched Aziraphale tiptoe around the cabin, wearing the blanket like a ballgown. Luckily, there was ancient firewood in a metal cradle by the fireplace and a lighter on the mantle that was miraculously not empty of fuel. 

Aziraphale sat on the ground in front of the fireplace, watching it closely once she’d gotten some flames going. Crowley watched the glitter of her bare shoulders interacting with the flickering flames when the blanket slid just so. She wondered if what had just happened meant anything, or if it was exactly the same as it had been back then. Everything, and yet nothing.

Crowley didn’t dare speak. She didn’t want to give Aziraphale a reason to run away.

An hour must have passed, Crowley on the couch, Aziraphale on the floor, the fireplace crackling and filling the room with coziness and warmth. Too much warmth, Crowley thought. She felt ready to crawl out of her skin.

“What if you stayed here?”

Aziraphale was still looking at the flames. Her voice had startled Crowley, she wasn’t expecting a conversation. Just for Aziraphale to make an excuse to leave.

“Whad’yu mean?”

Aziraphale turned, blue eyes hopeful, wisps of blonde hair white in the light of the fire. “I mean, while you figure out what’s next for you. Just for the summer. I never decided how long I would stay, but I have the entirety of the summer holidays. I could help you look for work or start building your own business.”

Crowley was tickled that Aziraphale thought she could start her own business, just like that. But she didn’t have any plans or anywhere to go. She could save on rent, staying here. And it sounded like Aziraphale wanted her around.

Crowley kicked a foot up and rolled her ankle thoughtfully. “Yeah. Why not?”

Weeks passed, and they fell into a pattern. Lunches in town, picnics by the lake, late night swims. Aziraphale was over at the lakehouse nearly every day. The whole summer was practically blissful. It was like they’d never been apart, except they were older, and that made it all so much better. Crowley forgot what she was running away from. She only ever could have been running towards something, towards _this,_ whatever this was.

Crowley went to Aziraphale’s place, caught up with her parents, met Gabe’s wife and kid. They were all delighted to see her. Aziraphale’s old childhood friend. Never her girlfriend or lover. Didn’t matter that most of those late night swims were naked, or that Crowley was learning exactly how to make Aziraphale moan.

Just like old times.

Secrecy or not, Crowley was happy. Aziraphale was the beam of sunlight Crowley needed while she put her life back together. She got Crowley a job teaching classes at an art studio- those wine and paint nights were all the rage. She helped her start a freelance website. Crowley started to believe maybe she actually could do all right as an artist, that she had really made the right choice leaving her high paying, stable, life draining job.

Aziraphale never talked about quitting preschool. It wasn’t her intention, Crowley knew that. Crowley following her dreams was well and good, but that was another thing entirely from Aziraphale doing it herself. She wouldn’t follow her own advice. So the summer would be exactly that, as it had always been all those years previously: the summer.

As weeks turned to months, Crowley didn’t want to admit that the end was looming, didn’t want to think about Aziraphale leaving town. But the topic was imminent, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable break up, if what they had even counted as something to be broken up.

“There’s something I should have shown you a long time ago.”

Aziraphale said it over tea, one rainy afternoon, when they were crowded in Crowley’s little table by the window in the cabin’s kitchen. Crowley didn’t want to believe this was it. She wanted, instead, to think about the kissing she’d received after returning from the local bakery with Aziraphale’s favorite scones for breakfast. 

Lemon blueberry. The icing tasted better off her lips. Crowley wondered how much better it would taste off her chest.

Aziraphale pulled an envelope out of her handbag that was hanging on the back of her chair. She slid the envelope to Crowley. Crowley couldn’t ignore reality. She looked at the envelope.

The ink on the front was faded, the envelope itself degraded, as if it had been shoved into piles, moved around, handled quite a bit. The handwriting was Aziraphale’s. “Antonia” scrawled in teenage loopy letters. This wasn’t what Crowley had been expecting.

It was sealed. Curious, Crowley turned it over and opened it gently, having to rip the paper. She slid the paper out, some printed stationery from a craft store. She unfolded and smoothed it out carefully and read it.

_Antonia,_

_I know we always said things would stay casual between us. No pressure, just fun! And I get it- I love the fun, I love the no pressure. But I have to confess to what has been weighing on my heart. I don’t know for how long, but I feel like I might burst if I don’t tell you._

_I love you, Antonia. More than anything. I didn’t know what love was, but I think I know now. I’ve never loved anyone before, but now I can’t imagine ever loving anyone else like I love you._

_Every time we are apart, I only want to see you again._

_I want to spend every day making you laugh._

_Even your voice is music to my ears._

_If you aren’t interested, if you don’t love me back… I will understand. I just knew I would never sleep until I told you, because I think we belong together, and I think, just maybe, somewhere deep down, you think so too._

_If not today, I think we’ll find a way, one day. There’s a string connecting us. I believe that. The string will bring us together. If you go away, and you don’t want to see me again, will you remember the string? Give it a tug, and we’ll always find each other._

_XXXXX,_

_Aziraphale_

  
  


Crowley looked at Aziraphale, eyebrows asking the silent questions. _When did you write this? Why didn’t you give it to me? Why are you giving it to me now?_

“I wrote that during our final summer here together,” Aziraphale answered, without Crowley having to speak. “I never got up the courage to give it to you.”

Crowley didn’t know how to feel. Gratified that her feelings back then had been returned, afterall? Or disappointed in the loss of never having known?

“May I take a look?” Aziraphale asked shyly. “I don’t remember what I wrote.”

Crowley slid the paper across the table to Aziraphale. Drank some of her tea.

She waited for Aziraphale to finish reading. “Do you still feel this way?” she asked, when Aziraphale began folding the paper back up.

Aziraphale blushed. “I feel differently now.”

Crowley’s heart sank. “Ah.” She wondered what the point of showing this to her was.

“Back then, I think my emotions were much stronger, and much less rational. Very dramatic.” She smiled weakly.

Crowley nodded, looking into her tea cup, waiting for the final blow, the goodbye. The explanation that this whole summer had been an extended roleplay fulfilling her teenage fantasies. Nothing real, when it came down to it.

“But, I think, in a way, that makes this statement more important.” Crowley looked up, interested in what she meant. She was looking determinedly into her own teacup. “Crowley. I think that maybe I love you. I mean, now. Today. And I think that perhaps I could be very much in love with you, and be very happy to be so, if you were to love me back.” 

Crowley blinked at her, shocked by this turn of events, and powerless to form words in response. 

“I’d like to see where we can take this, if you feel that is amenable. I’d like to, if you would, have a grown-up relationship with you. Perhaps you can stay with me on the coast- or not!” Her eyes widened. She picked up a biscuit and started crumbling it in her hands helplessly. “I only mean, that if you wanted to, but of course I know-” 

Crowley had stood up and crossed to her side of the table. She pried the remains of the biscuit from her hand and returned it to the plate. She pushed aside her plate and teacup so she could press her hand on the table, the other on the back of Aziraphale’s chair. She leaned down and kissed her. Aziraphale stopped blabbering.

“I think I could be amenable,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s lips.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, as if she didn’t dare hope.

“Sure. What if I get too far away and the string connecting us gets all tangled? No good, that.”

Aziraphale blushed deeply and Crowley kissed her again.

“Helps that I love you, too,” she added. “Even if you’re a little ridiculous and dramatic.”

“I was eighteen!” Aziraphale defended. Crowley laughed. She marveled at her luck.

Maybe there _was_ a string. Maybe there wasn’t. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that they were together, now. They could make a string, if they really wanted. 

“You gotta promise me one thing, though,” Crowley said, remembering something important.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, breathless.

“If I’m doing this art thing- will you consider culinary school? Maybe just some night classes, as a side hobby.” Crowley knew it was presumptuous, telling Aziraphale what to do with her own life. But giving her a little push wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“I’ll think about it,” Aziraphale said carefully.

“No rush,” Crowley said quickly. “We got plenty of time to think about what’s next, yeah? Our whole lives.” Crowley bit her tongue. Didn’t mean for that last thing to come out. Now who was dramatic? But Aziraphale only beamed.

“Yes,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to Taylor Swift's album _Folklore_ a lot, if that tells you anything about this fic.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](%E2%80%9C)


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